Seasons
by BethNee
Summary: Draco Malfoy updates his diary once every hated season. The diary of a Death Eater, Voldemort's right hand man, the boy in love with his rival. Although it may take some time, will Draco learn to love the seasons, himself, and another?


_It's me again! Did you miss me? Oh... I didn't think so..._

_Warnings: Slash, torture._

_Disclaimer: If I owned HP, I would live in a huge mansion, wander outside to brush my eighteen horses, and sip the finest champagne money can buy. Alas, I'm sitting in my small room, my cat on the end of my bed, drinking Coke._

HDHDHDHDHD

**Draco Malfoy's Diary - Read under pain of death**

**Spring **

I despise spring. I really do.

As I write this, there are birds twittering merrily outside my window, blissfully unaware of the misery happening in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. Blossom is sprouting on the green trees in the gardens, daring to fall in swirling patterns across the lawn.

Why is the world so frigging happy? How can nature continue to be so beautiful when the Saviour of the Wizarding World is being torn to shreds merely metres beneath my feet? His hands are most probably bound together behind his back, his jet black hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. The Dark Lord likes to cut open Potter's scar, and watch the blood trickle into his emerald eyes. Then Crabbe, Goyle or myself will kick him in the stomach, and he'll fall like a sack of potatoes, groaning. I've been there enough times to know this routine.

Afterwards, the Dark Lord will cut into his arms and legs, cackle hideously and stalk out, followed by whichever Death Eater accompanied him in there. If I'm chosen I won't follow immediately, just stand there for a while, watching Potter bleed and cry. And then my heart'll twinge for no apparent reason, and I'll grab his arm and pull him into a sitting position. Then I'll murmur spells under my breath to heal his wounds and then I'll turn and leave.

But I wasn't chosen today. Goyle was. He's an idiot, but he's loyal, and the Dark Lord trusts him. Not as much as he trusts me, of course: I'm his right hand man. It's not like I want to be, but I don't have a choice. During the war, I was strongly considering changing sides. Until Potter was captured, and then it seemed pointless. When Potter was captured, Voldemort had already won.

The only reason I wanted to switch sides is the same reason I feel sorry for Potter now. Because he was nice to me. During the times I locked myself in empty classrooms and sobbed, Potter would charm the door open, sit next to me and tell me he understood my pain. Had anyone else said that, I would've laughed and hexed them. But I knew Potter had genuinely been through things just as bad as what I'd been through. I used to actually enjoy the quiet talks we'd have, each one of us just as miserable as the other. I remember him saying, the day before he was captured:  
"Malfoy... join the Light, please! I'll look out for you, you won't come to harm, I swear! Please... just consider it." The following morning, I was ready to run and tell him I'd join him, fight side by side with him. Then I got an owl from the Dark Lord, telling me to come home to the Manor: the war had been won. But the wrong side had won it.

I just heard a howl of pain, and I know Potter emitted it. He tries not to yell, but after a while the torture becomes too much to bear. I hear someone ascending the stairs and walking along the hall. No doubt it is the Dark Lord, cackling with glee. Or perhaps it is Zabini, just finished his latest public killing. It's Voldemort's way of controlling the masses, those killings. People are too afraid to oppose him once they see his Death Eaters hacking limbs off of random passers-by, or performing _Avada Kedavra _in the streets. Fear controlls minds even more than _Imperius _does. And I should know.

As I continue to write this, I hear whispered conversation outside my door. I recognise it to be Crabbe and Goyle, discussing something no doubt idiotic and mind-numbingly dull. I'm considering asking the Dark Lord if I can visit Potter; telling him I'm visiting purely to torture the Golden Boy. When really... I'll most probably heal his wounds, sit with him, and occasionally glance at his dull green eyes. They never used to be dull: they used to glimmer with love like emeralds in the sunshine. But as the blood pours out of him, so does his love. I expect he's incapable of feeling anything but misery now.

**Summer**

I despise Summer. I really do.

Since spring, the Dark Lord has put me in charge of the happenings at Malfoy Manor. He no longer lives here: and has moved into a large mansion near Hogwarts. It is so he can oversee the training of his new Death-Eaters. I care for none of that anymore. I've seen horrors others can nowt but imagine... and I know what awaits the trainees. I feel no pity for them.

Potter is still kept in the dungeons, but is no longer tortured. I made that decision once Lord Voldemort left the manor. I usually tell Crabbe, Goyle and Zabini that I'm going down to the dungeons to inflict more pain upon the Boy-Who-Lived, but instead I bring him food, a change of clothing and some books. If any of the less important Death Eaters see me rushing down to the dungeons with these items, they say nothing. Once I've given Potter the food, clothes and books, he'll nod at me and continue sitting silently. Most days, I'll sit with him, telling him of the state of the outside world. I'm no longer sure he cares about it.

Because it was hot today, I gave Potter a bucket of water and some soap to rinse himself down. He stank like he hadn't bathed in months... which, in fact, he hadn't. I might have to start adding water and soap to the list of things I bring him. Do not go thinking I enjoy going down there and talking with him. Not in the slightest. I'm just being courteous.

I write this next to the large window, which is open due to the extreme heat. The sun is blindingly bright, and there is not a cloud in the sky. Even Lord Voldemort is generally relatively cheerful on summer days like these. I, however, am not. It's highly unfair that Potter won't get to see this gorgeous day, or any others like it. It's also unfair that I seem to be having these odd... feelings... around Potter. They are most certainly _not _feelings of attraction: merely feelings of friendship. Intimate friendship.

Though I don't expect for one moment Scarhead would want to be my friend. I've had no real friends since I was a child.

**Autumn**

I despise Autumn. I really do.

Potter is no longer kept in the dungeons. The other Death Eaters know that he now lives in my quarters, but just expect that I do horrific things, such as raping him, in place of the torture. But I do nothing of the sort. He speaks to me now, mostly in mumbled fragments, but he does speak. He enjoys sitting by the window, staring out across the acres of manor grounds, like he is doing right now.

I've taken it upon myself to brush Potter's hair, which I do twice a day. He hasn't got the energy to do it himself, that's the only reason I brush it. It's not because I think he looks far more attractive when his hair is combed nicely. Nor is it because I enjoy being in such close proximity to him.

Today it is fairly cold. The summer was so hot, the rest of the year has seemingly decided to be cold to make up for it. I might buy Potter a coat or something, for when he's finally allowed outside. The Dark Lord has already announced there will be a meeting in a few weeks which all Death Eaters must attend. I, however, have been permitted to stay here and 'torture' the Golden Boy. That'll hopefully be my chance to get him out into the grounds for a bit. Perhaps the glimmer in his eyes will come back. That wonderful glimmer which I long to see return. Not that I care that much, honestly.

He's just gone to bed, because it's getting quite late now. He sleeps on a mattress I instructed the house elves to bring into the room. Sometimes he falls asleep on my bed, because he sits there reading for hours. I don't have the heart to move him, so I just leave him there.

There's not much else to write. I'm still very much alone in the world, but having Potter around near enough constantly has eased my lonliness. In fact, I find myself being a little less miserable. Normally I'd cry for hours every night, but I hardly do at all anymore. When it's all become too much, and a sob escapes me, Potter is up like a rocket and standing at the foot of my bed, looking ever so slightly concerned.  
"I'm alright, honestly." I'll whisper, and he'll raise an eyebrow but go back to his bed.

**Winter**

I despise winter. I really do.

It's so cold, which I used to enjoy, because it matched my cold heart. But now my heart is being thawed, and the chill of winter is just annoying.

The Death Eaters left the manor for the meeting, and I wasted no time in throwing Potter a winter coat, pulling my own on and dragging the boy by the hand down the stairs. We reached the front door, and Potter placed a foot into the snow that littered the grounds. He immediately began grinning, and ran around like a child. He scooped up handfulls of snow and threw them everywhere, lay on the ground and made snow angels, and even slid on the frozen lake. After an hour outside, Potter walked over to me, the sparkle in his eyes back and stronger than ever before.  
"Thank you, Draco. For everything." He said quietly, and threw his arms around my neck. My heart skipped a beat as I returned the hug. It was then that Potter became Harry.

Ever since that day, Harry and I talk for hours about all sorts of things. His replies are usually thoughtful and heartfelt, much unlike those I would've given several months previously. But now, I think I'm becoming a genuinely nicer person. Thanks to Harry.

Because I'm such a deep sleeper, I rarely notice what occurs when I am in slumber. However, three weeks ago I stayed up for the entire night, writing reports for Lord Voldemort. Just after midnight, I heard whimpering coming from Harry's bed. Immediately, I dashed over to see what was wrong. His forehead was drenched in sweat, and he was tossing and turning, crying out softly for help.

"Hey, Harry... sshhh. It'll be alright." I dropped to my knees beside him and rested a hand gently on his shoulder. He murmured under his breath and tears trickled out from under his eyelids.  
"Harry, it's Draco. I'm here, you're okay." I told him, my hand still on his shoulder. Suddenly, he seemed to relax.  
"Draco..." He whispered, smiling slightly, and I felt my stomach tighten with joy. "Draco..." He repeated, and snuggled down into his blankets. I grinned and withdrew my hand. Nervously, I planted a soft kiss on his forehead, and got to my feet. It was in those few minutes I realised I was in love with Harry Potter.

I've been kind of embarrassed around Harry since then. I find myself staring at him when he's not looking, and when he's sleeping. I stay awake for a few hours longer each night, just in case he has a nightmare, which he does about once a week. I comfort him in the same way as before, although sometimes I hold his hand lightly to sooth him. He always whispers my name in the kind of voice that makes my knees go week.

**Spring**

I love spring. I really do.

The Dark Lord has been vanquished! It still makes me grin to think of his body rotting in the ground somewhere. Harry and I constructed a plan... and actually pulled it off! I lured Voldemort to the manor with excsuses and promises, all the way up to my room, and Harry was inside armed with my wand. The Snake didn't see it coming: it was amazing.

Harry and I left without further thought, Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron and ran into muggle London and onwards to a muggle hotel. Once there, the two of us just laughed and laughed, out of happiness and relief. I was no longer trapped: no longer confined to the life of a criminal! I poured us out some muggle whisky and we drank with gratitude. The more we drank, the more we laughed. Soon enough we were in hysterics, and suddenly Harry just stopped laughing, and started sobbing. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he curled up into a ball on the chair. I slid off of my own chair and drunkenly stumbled over to him.  
"Harry, don't cry..." I said, slurring my words slightly. I knelt beside him and grabbed his hand.  
"Draco..." He whispered quietly, looking up at me with big emerald eyes. I leant forward, caressed his cheek with one hand and kissed him lightly.

At first, Harry resisted and pulled away. I felt sick and dizzy, like my entire world was crashing around me, until he brought his lips to mine. We kissed passionately for several seconds and then pulled apart, grinning.

The following morning, I awoke with a massive hangover, and the biggest smile plastered over my face. Harry had one arm on my torso, his fingers splayed out and resting lightly on my chest. The blanket was barely covering him, and I could see nearly all of his body. He was still paler than usual, covered in scars, not that muscular... but to me he was the most beautiful being to grace the planet.

All that occured about four weeks before the current date. Right now, I'm sitting in the small flat in muggle London which Harry and I purchased. I no longer care for the world of magic, and neither does Harry. The two of us are more than content in living in our little flat, sharing our double bed, watching cheesy comedies on the television, and working in our respective offices.

The reason why I love spring, and why it is my favourite season, is because so many wonderful things are happening this springtime for Harry and myself. I expect, as summer, autumn and winter arrive, more fantastic things will happen and I will adore those seasons as much as spring. But for now, I am taking each season as it comes.

Taking each season, as it comes, with the man I love and admire. What a life.

HDHDHDHDHD

_A happy ending for Harry and Draco, something we all like to see. This was a bit of an experimental ficlet, as I've never written anything in this style before. It's important to note that this is a first attempt, and should be reviewed as such. That is, if you even wish to review at all. I would be ever grateful if you do. _

_Betnii xx_


End file.
